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The sky was darkening as we made our way out of the craftsmen's street and back into the market square, which was beginning to pack up.

"But the man and his boy must have been real?" I said.

"Oh aye," said Jessica, examining an embroidered chemise hanging by one of the Jewish clothing stalls. "And I reckon they must've made some money somewhere to be able to cross the river to the 'right side'. They were probably doing something illegal, but it ain't like Mrs Maple's story's true."

"Poor woman," I said quietly. "She seemed to be in such distress."

We wove our way through the market square, stopping every once in a while to view the wares. I was particularly interested in a stall of old books.

I told Jessica of my love of books and poetry.

"You should go to St Pauls, milady," suggested Jessica as we left the market behind us, walking onto quieter roads. "It's a book lover's dream, alright."

"Do you read?" I asked.

She laughed, "Oh no, Miss, though I'd very much like to."

"Doesn't the Noble have someone teaching you?"

"Just the younguns, really," she said. "Though I'm sure if I asked...there just aren't an awful lo' of tutors or reading material."

"Perhaps I could help," I said. "I'm no Kit Marlowe, but I am literate."

"Oh really?" Jessica squealed, "Oh thank you!" Then she threw her arms around me, right there in the middle of the street. Like before, she quickly realized her mistake, and stepped back. "Oh I'm terribly sorry, Miss, you know I'm just – " she cut off. Her face drained of colour, her eyes fixed on something over my shoulder.

"Jessica?" I said, turning to look at the still crowded street. "What is it?"

"Him," she squeaked, pointing. I saw now, a man striding purposefully down the street toward us. He wore a green, bejewelled doublet, but it was oddly misshapen, suggesting it had had several owners before reaching him. A one shouldered cape was fastened across his chest, and his ugly face was set directly on us.

"Who is he?" I demanded quickly, taking Jessica's elbow and ensuring she sped up. The street we were on was not deserted, exactly, but there were just a few people around.

"My old procurer," she squeaked. "He's come to claim me back..."

"He must have followed us from the market," I muttered. I glanced behind me. The man was gaining on us, too quickly for my liking. "How far are we from Madame Corban's?"

"Just to the en' of this street and round," she said shakily. "And then along Bankside and then..."

"Alright, do not worry yourself, Jessica," I said, feigning calmness. I looked around again. He was but twenty yards away, still gaining. I cursed myself for my slowness, but I already felt out of breath and my wound ached.

"Jessica!" the man called out.

"Keep walking," I said.

"Oh Lord," she whispered, looking behind her. The move proved fatal, for she tripped on the uneven ground. I knew then that there was no point in trying to run. He was there. Quickly, I knelt down next to her and, as I pulled her to her feet, I took the dagger from my calf and hid it in my skirts. "When I say run..." I whispered to her.

Then, we turned to face the man. He was aging, I could tell, and his beady black eyes and snarl was a sight to be feared. But he only had eyes for poor Jessica.

"Knew I'd find you sooner or later, my pretty," he said.

"Please, James," she whispered, taking a step back from him.

But he grabbed her wrist in a vicelike grip. "No pleading's going to get you anywhere, whore," he spat. "You lost me a valuable customer that night."

"It was years ago!" she whimpered.

He gazed at her, "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, if you leave with me now and work off the money I lost, I will let you live."

"No, please, le' me go!"

He gripped her wrist even harder, pulling her closer to him, "I don't think so," he snarled.

"Enough!" I commanded, pushing myself between Jessica and the bastard.

He stared at me for a second, "Do I know you – "

Using his pause as an advantage, I raised my heeled shoe and rammed it into his crotch. He let out a cry and keeled over, clutching his privates. The idiot didn't even have money for a codpiece. Quickly, so as not to lose advantage, I brought my dagger to his throat and clutched a handful of his hair, yanking his head back to look at me. His eyes were flaming in anger.

"You little bitch!" he snarled.

"No," I said loud enough for all to hear, for I could see from the corners of my eyes that people had stopped. "I am the Noble's Lady, and if you dare touch my friend again, I shall slit your throat right the way round and not think a thing of it." I knew I only had limited time before he regained his strength. Quickly, I kicked him hard in the crotch again, then stood up. "Let it be known that this pathetic excuse for a man is both black and blue in the head and in his breeches!"

"Huzzah!" cried one of the onlookers. Others began to laugh.

"Now," I said to Jessica, who was staring at the writhing man on the ground. "Run!"

And run we both did, to the end of the street, round the corner, and onto the riverbank. The Thames rushed along beside us. "Keep going!" I gasped, even though there were people about. I did not want to think of it, but I had assaulted a man – if it was my word against his, he would win.

People stared as we ran by, but I cared not. "Keep going," I kept whispering, more to myself than to Jessica, who was easily keeping up.

It seemed to take an age to leave the Thames behind. Then we rounded one corner after the next until I could not take it anymore. I collapsed in a doorway. "Oh sweet God," I whimpered, barely dragging air through my lips. My wound burned now.

"Milady, shall I fetch help?" said Jessica, kneeling in front of me. "We're close now..."

"No," I gasped. "No, just wait."

We sat for just a few minutes, though the pain felt timeless, never ending. Eventually, though, it did dissipate.

We continued on, down the backstreets to the empty street where the Noble's House stood. It was nondescript – just one black door in a street of houses all three stories high, all seeming to be leaning forward slightly, crammed together.

"Madame Corban ain't going to be 'appy with me," Jessica said, watching me as we walked into the dark corridor. I had to clutch one of her arms for support. "I'm so sorry, Miss."

"That is alright, Jessica," I said. "I am only glad that I was there, or else you may not have returned home."

"Thank you," she whispered, and then suddenly burst into tears. I was taken aback for a moment, then realized just how much this 'James' had terrified her and tormented her.

Tentatively, I put my arms around her shaking shoulders, "It is alright, Jessica," I whispered, rubbing her back. "You're safe."

"Isabella."

We both looked up. My heart thudded. Edward stood there, his eyes on me. Madame Corban stood behind him, looking between me and Jessica disapprovingly.

Nervously, I gave Jessica one final pat on the arm and wordlessly followed Edward into his office. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I thought of last night, sitting on this same floor, Edward's lips so close to my own...

But now the room was properly lit with candles, and the fire burned gently in the hearth.

Edward clicked the door shut behind us and then turned to me. His eyes were blazing, "What in God's name did you think you were doing?"

I frowned, "I just went out with Jessica." I felt my own anger flare, "I could not believe you would think to send out a girl like that alone."

Edward gasped, running a hand through his hair, "James Witherdale, Isabella, is not someone you should threaten – let alone hold a knife to his throat!"

I stopped, "How do you know – "

"Spies, Isabella," he snapped. "Spies who can run a lot faster than you and fight a lot better than you."

"Then why wasn't one of them looking after Jessica!" I exclaimed. "If I had not been there then she would be back in his clutches now!"

"That is not your concern!" he replied. "You could have been killed yourself! Or worse!"

"But that's not what happened," I said.

"That doesn't mean it won't happen next time, Isabella," he snapped. "You are not invincible, and my name does not make you so."

I cringed internally – 'I am the Noble's Lady' – "I did not mean to say such a thing," I said quietly, feeling embarrassed despite everything. "It just came out...I know I hold no allegiance to any of this, nor to Jessica or...you..." I felt slightly sick at my words, but I was unsure why. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes.

He paused only a moment before saying quietly, "We are branded with names thought most befitting to us by the public. It cannot be helped."

I gazed at him, "You do not think yourself noble?"

He gazed back, those green eyes pensive now, "Do you think I am?"

I looked away, "My opinions are of little consequence."

"Not to me."

In surprise, my eyes met his. They looked back seriously. He is speaking a truth...

I swallowed, "I...I don't know yet."

"Yet?" he asked.

"I don't understand you," I said quietly, fiddling with the fabric of my skirts. "I do not know you."

He gave an involuntary smile, "I suppose without the knowledge of my favourite colour and what my preferred season is, you cannot be fit to pass judgement on me."

I found myself smiling, "And let us not omit the tales of your worst childhood nanny."

"Oh, she was a right bore," he said nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling. "She spent her days swearing at me in French and her nights snoring loudly in the nursery chair."

The idea of Lord Edward Masen being dominated by a fat French nanny brought a laugh bubbling to my lips. The pain in my wound spiked and I stopped, bring my hand over my ribs.

Edward frowned, "You must go and see Madame Corban."

For once, I simply nodded. He opened the door for me. But then I remembered... "There is one more thing," I said tentatively.

He nodded for me to go on.

"The Snatcher...I think perhaps there is a lead. Jessica showed me this sword smith, where there were once these disappearances – "

Abruptly, Edward shut the door, his eyes darkening. "There is nothing there."

"I know," I said. "Jessica said it was just the plague, but what if the Snatcher was acting then, as well? What if he's still acting out of there and – "

"Isabella." Edward's voice was harsh now. "The sword smiths has nothing to do with the Snatcher. I have already looked into it. Do not speak of it again, to anyone."

I frowned, "But this could be our one chance – "

"No, Isabella," he snapped. "And there is no 'our' about it. This is not your battle. You have nothing in common with these people. This is not your business."

"But I – "

"Madame Corban says you are recovering. I will organise a coach for you tomorrow morning."

I could not hide my hurt, "But Edward I – "

He opened the door, "Out. Now."

I gave him the most poisonous glare I could muster and stormed out.

The door slammed shut behind me.

With a huff, I pulled myself up the rickety stairs. How dare he speak to me so? After everything that had happened. And why? He said it was not my business, as if I hadn't taken a bullet for him, as if I hadn't just saved one of his people, as if I hadn't almost been kissed by him last night...

But the first part of guilt passed through me then. He was right – he had never asked me to be a part of this. I was the one who had chosen to follow him all those times. And I hadn't helped anyone.

I eventually reached my room. Fed up and lost, I yanked out the strings of my corset pulled it off. Then I sat down on the hard wooden floor and untied the stupid sheath and dagger from my leg – as if could ever have used it properly.

As it dropped to the floor, the dagger slid out of its sheath.

I blinked, then leaned forward and picked it up. At the bottom of the blade, just above the hilt, were the etched letters:

A

M

I stared at it contemplatively, not really knowing what to think. It was a coincidence. Just an unfortunate one...

"My lady?" came a knock on the door. Quickly, I pushed the dagger under my bed and stood just as Madame Corban entered, carrying a bowl of water. She looked wistfully at my face, but miss interpreted the look on it. "The Noble is just trying to keep you safe, child."

"I know," I said quietly. The sick feeling in my stomach grew. In the back of my mind, thoughts were ticking.

I lay down and let Madame Corban treat and bandage my wound again.

I stared up at the bare, cobwebbed ceiling of my room... "Madame Corban," I said quietly. "What was the Noble's father's name?"

"You know better than to speak of the Noble like that, child," she replied, placing some sort of leaf over my wound before bandaging it.

"I know," I said. "But no one will hear us...and I am curious..." think of some sort of excuse, Isabella! "I just...I want to know more about him. Because I think I am starting to trust him..."

Madame Corban paused, looking down at me with a suspicious look, "Is it trust or something more, child?"

I looked away in surprise. "Of course not..."

I heard a gentle laugh, "His name was Anthony, I believe. Anthony Masen."

My stomach dropped then. I forced myself to lie stock still, even as my mind whirled.

A M. Anthony Masen... "There are rumours in court about his past"... "He were a blacksmith! His son, too!" Edward...Anthony and Edward Masen... "The owner of this place kidnapped people off the streets and they were never seen again" ... "Do not speak of it again, to anyone" ... "The Noble knows, of course – 'e was the one to tell me where she was, and 'e said I should keep looking after 'er – just not to tell anyone else"...so that they wouldn't know his story...so that those who knew the Noble's identity wouldn't make the connections. So that they wouldn't realize that Edward Masen, the Noble killer who was supposedly risking his life to save the poor, was the Snatcher himself...

"Child?" Madame Corban's face hovered above mine, her dark skin crinkled in concern. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine," I whispered hoarsely. "Just tired."

She frowned, but pulled back. "Come down for dinner soon. I am sure the women would appreciate your company."

I nodded mutely and waited for her to go.

As soon as the stairs finished creaking, I sat up.

What am I to do? I thought to my dark, empty room. If Edward was the Snatcher then he had to be stopped. I remembered the poor man from last night, how his three sons had all been taken. This cannot go on...

But I had to be sure...and I had to have evidence...

I had flung my black cloak on the floor, but now I picked it up and pulled it around my shoulders. I felt sick taking the dagger when I knew the history of its maker, but I knew I would need some defence in the dark streets. Defence from strangers...and defence from those whom I thought I'd known.

So I secured it to my calf once more, pulled my boots on, and crept downstairs, out the door, and into the silent street.

*T*L*

London was cold tonight; cold and dark. Clouds and smoke shrouded the stars and suffocated the moon. I ran as best as I could tonight – I did not want my wound to open again, not when I doubted I would be welcomed back to Madame Corban's after this. I wondered if she knew...I wondered if Sebastian knew...if Lord Carlisle knew. I doubted it. They all seemed like good people. And Madame Corban had not been worried about telling me Edward's father's name. And Sebastian seemed to think that Edward was just killing nobles who hurt the poor.

I wondered who he was really killing. The people who knew about what he and his father had been doing, perhaps?

I scolded myself as I ducked in and out of shadows; I had always felt uneasy around Edward Masen. Why hadn't I followed my instincts? Why had I trusted him? Dear lord, why had I saved him?

I found the main road which lead to the market square. It wasn't empty. Dark, hooded figures like myself milled around. Music and shouting came from the two inns I passed. Horses and carts still clopped by. I stayed close to the side of the road, keeping to the shadows of the narrow buildings. Ghostly faces passed by, but none of them paid me much attention. With my hood covering my face, and my cloak covering my clothing, I did not seem as much of an innocent, frightened girl as I truly was, which I was glad of. There was only one person I wished to speak to on this night, and she would not see either.

I crossed the market square. Now it was empty of stalls, but all the waste of the day – rotten fruit and frayed ropes – littered the ground.

The traders' street was easy to find – one only had to follow the scent of burnt wood which still lingered, even though the day was over. I trailed down the road, being less careful now that I was getting closer. I almost missed my goal, though. It was only by the shop sign that I stopped myself.

A M and Son.

Sword Smiths

Father and son. Bastards.

I frowned; the space in front of the shop was empty – just another section of muddy road. Where is she? Jessica had said that Mrs Maple never moved.

I gulped, suddenly feeling the proper, intelligent fear that any smart being should have being on a Cheapside of the street at this time of night. It was dark. I was alone. And the person who should have been here wasn't.

Perhaps she is inside...I thought. I looked up at the boards covering the shop. Worn, but still unbroken. There was a narrow gap between this shop and the next, however. Biting my lip against the fear which bubbled inside me, I pulled my cloak tighter and crept into the dark alleyway. There, in the wall, was a great, gaping hole. And it looked freshly made.

All my instincts told me to do now was run, but I could not. Instead, I clutched my skirts and climbed over the debris and into the dark workshop.

The scent of dust and burnt coal lingered in the air. All was dark. I could see the outline of an anvil, and then of the great forge, which towered above me. Chains and hammers hung from the walls. Run, Isabella, run...

I went in further. My shoes scuffed on the dusty floor. Every sound terrified me.

It was then that I noticed a rectangular hole in the corner – steps, leading down...

Feeling sick with inexplicable fear, I crept over to the steps. From here, I could see a faint orange light coming from underneath.

No...this is not a good idea...

Silently, I went down. I realized my fingers were shaking as I reached for the door knob.

Don't do this...

I pulled the door open.

Mrs Maple...hung from the ceiling, blood still dripping from her neck, staring right at me with bulging, blank, dead eyes.

My scream only lasted a moment before someone's hand clamped over my mouth.

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